


The Secret Thing

by ameliacareful



Series: One Too Many [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaker Dean Winchester, Graphic Sex, M/M, Sam has been hit in the head too many times, Swearing, Wincest - Freeform, sam with short hair, sequel to One Too Many, waiting for Cas to come heal him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 02:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14392800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliacareful/pseuds/ameliacareful





	The Secret Thing

*  *   *

            Sometimes the Bunker felt empty to Sam, a kind of twilight place, but this afternoon it was full of anticipation.

            “Cas is getting in to Wichita at a little after 10:00pm. I’ll get him back a little after midnight,” Dean said. “You want me to wake you up if you’re asleep?”

            “Back after midnight. I, I, I’ll go with you,” Sam said. He could already feel the anger growing, Dean just assuming he wasn’t going with. Since the bleed his emotions were all over the place. Anger like he hadn’t felt (or maybe allowed himself to feel) since he got back from the Cage.

            “Look, it’s a couple of hours each way. You don’t need to spend all that time in a car,” Dean said.

            “Yeah,” Sam said, “I do.” Words came easier when he was mad.

            “Sam—”

            Before Dean could continue and explain why he had made this particular decision about Sam, Sam picked up his cup and left the kitchen.

            “Sam!” Dean said. He heard Dean’s chair scrape and then Dean was behind him. “Don’t you walk away!”

            Sam turned around. “Want to punch me?” he asked.

            Dean clenched his fists. Yes, clearly he wanted to punch something. “Damn it, don’t be stupid.”

            Sam shrugged, enjoying Dean’s utter impotence. He couldn’t slug Sam; Sam had a head injury. Sam stuck his chin out like, ‘hit me.’

            “Fuck you,” Dean said.

            That, Sam thought, was the idea.

            “What are you smiling at?” Dean snapped.

#

            Sam was in the Impala an hour before Dean said he was going to leave. He put in his earbuds and listened to a podcast, a history of philosophy.   It was impossible to concentrate on so he changed to music. It was 90’s music, stuff he hadn’t listened to since he was a kid. Nirvana and Green Day and Pearl Jam. He was startled when Dean knocked on the window.

            “What the hell are you doing?”

            “D-doing. Doing, listening. Listening to music,” Sam said.

            “In the car?” Dean was pissed.

            “I was afraid you would leave without me.” Sam had trouble with time, with clocks. It would be easy for Dean to just leave.

            “You don’t trust me?”

            Sam took a moment to really react. Then he started laughing. He trusted Dean with his life in a hunt. Otherwise, not so much anymore. He wanted to. He tried. He assumed that Dean was the same way about him. Hell, half the time he expected Lucifer to pop up and say this was all a joke, that nothing was real and he was still in the Cage. He’d only been out for what, eight years? Eight years was nothing. It was all so fucked up.

            Dean stomped around the car and got in but he didn’t start the engine right away. Sam watched him. “It’s all gonna go back to normal,” he said. “Cas’ll heal you and you’ll be good again, okay?”

            Who was Dean trying to convince? Did he think they were going to stop getting hurt? That next time it wouldn’t be Sam, it would be Dean? One of them was going to die one of these times. Shot in the gut, hit in the head, or taken by a violent archangel. Sadness welled up in Sam. It was the brain stuff he told himself. It was not real feelings.

            It felt real. He didn’t want Dean to die. He didn’t particularly want to die, either—he’d been to Hell, and to Heaven and to Purgatory and when he thought about it, he felt like fingers walked down his spine and he shuddered. He looked out the window at the cars of the Men of Letters. He pretended to study the old Benz, gleaming under the light.

            “Sam?” Dean said.

            Don’t cry you stupid bastard. He waved his hand to indicate he had nothing to share, nothing to say.

            After a moment, Dean started the engine.

#

            “His plane is landed,” Dean said. “He should be out in a few minutes.”

            Sam startled awake. There were those giant lights in the parking lot of the Wichita airport, clean blue white under lowering skies. How long had they been here? He tried to ask but all he could do was stutter, “L-l-landed. Landed?”

            “Yeah, Sam, that’s what planes do. They land. At airports.”

            Sam flicked Dean the finger and got out of the car.

            “You need a jacket, asshole,” Dean said.

            Sam didn’t want a jacket. He ignored Dean and walked towards the entrance. It was chilly, a bit of a wind coming across the parked cars, damp with the promise of rain. He looked up at the cloudy night, the under-lit clouds, and felt a bit of vertigo and had to stop.

            Dean took his elbow without a word, steering him forward.

            Inside was all chrome and shining floors and bright, hard lights. He’d gotten used to the lighting in the bunker. He didn’t like this. He squinted and just ahead of them, a woman was looking at her phone. Her wheelie started to jiggle.

            “Come on,” Dean said, pulling Sam towards the chairs. All of the chairs were taken and the place was full of people. Dean kicked the soles of the shoes of a guy wearing a blue down vest like something out of the nineties. “Hey, I need you to get up, my brother needs to sit.”

            The guy looked up, startled. “This is my seat,” he said.

            “And my brother just had brain surgery a couple of weeks ago. Be a good citizen, okay?”

            The woman sitting next to the guy started to stand up but the guy said, “Okay, sorry. I didn’t know.”

            Light flickered across the luggage carousel, the red warning light threatening to go on. Dean sat Sam down and Sam felt the seat through his jeans, warm from the guy who’d been sitting there.

            “Is he okay?” the guy said.

            Another flash of red. Sam knew he was doing it, that he had to get his act together.

            “Yeah,” Dean said. “Our brother is getting in and he wanted to be here to meet him. It’s just a bit much, you know?”

            Everyone was looking at him.

            The warning light in the middle of the baggage carousel went on, like something on a police car.

            “Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said. “Sam. Sammy. Cas is almost here. I’m here. You’re okay. Just close your eyes and take a breath, okay?”

            Sam closed his eyes. He took a breath. The world was still rolling a little but he was okay. Cas would be here soon. After a minute he could say, “Okay.” He said it again, “Okay.” He opened his eyes and looked up at the guy whose seat Dean had commandeered. “S-sorry,” he said.

            “No problem, man,” the guy said.

            Dean was on one knee in front of him. He wasn’t angry. Thank Chuck.

            Sam took a moment, collected everything he needed and then said, “You were right.”

            “I’m always right,” Dean said. “What am I right about now?”

            Again, the struggle to collect the words. “Should have, should have, have, have have stayed home.”

            Dean smiled. “Yeah, you should have.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

            Sam closed his eyes. Air in through his nose, expand the diaphragm, air out. Opened them, concentrated on Dean’s boot. Were the lights a little dimmer? He hoped he wasn’t doing that. It was one thing in the Bunker—there it just annoyed Dean—but being out of control here was in front of civilians…

            “There he is,” Dean said.

            Cas was coming down the escalator with no luggage but a bag full of… pomegranates? Something? He was carrying the paper bag in the crook of his arm like he was on his way home from the farmer’s market. He looked so weirdly Cas-like in this airport, wearing his trench coat, gliding a little stiffly on the escalator. He saw them. Sam felt a surge of joy and the lights got a little brighter. Dean pulled him to his feet and someone said, ‘Are the lights weird in here?’ but Sam didn’t pay any attention.

            “Dean,” Cas said. “Sam, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

            Sam wrapped Cas into a hug. Cas put the arm not holding the fruit around his back.

            “What is that?” Dean asks. “Is that it?”

            “We are blocking the escalator,” Cas says, gravelly voiced, and they all walked towards the door. “It’s fruit from the Tree of Life. The tree was guarded by a pack of djinn. I killed most of them, bargained with the rest. Think I'm... technically married to their queen now.”

            Dean giggled. Sam thought it was probably something they should take a little more seriously although how much time were they likely to spend in Syria? And Dean giggled which meant Dean was a little giddy. Sam knew dealing with him had been a strain. The air outside was refreshingly cool. He hadn’t realized how hot it was inside.

            How did Cas get the fruit through international airports?

            At the car they stopped and Cas handed Dean the bag of fruit and held two fingers to Sam’s forehead.

            Sam heard Dean say, “What the fuck are these?” and then he was enveloped in grace. He couldn’t help but close his eyes. When he opened them again it was as if inside his head had been blurry before and now it was crisp and clear.

            “Thanks, Cas,” he said.

            “I am sorry I wasn’t here for you,” Cas said gravely.

            “No, this thing you did, it was important,” Sam said.

            “Hey,” Dean said. “What about his hair?”

            Cas squinted at Sam. “It’s short.”

            Dean looked at Cas as if he were being purposefully obtuse. “Yeah, it’s short. Fix it, can you?”

            “No,” Sam said.

            “What?” Dean said. “It’s your princess hair. It’s like, your thing.”

            “It’s just hair,” Sam said. “It’s not an injury. It’ll grow back.”

            “Sam!” Dean said.

            “You want him to shave off my beard at the same time?” Sam asked.

            Cas squinted. “Oh, you have a beard.”

            “What, are you blind?” Dean said. “He looks like a different dude.”

            “I don’t pay much attention to your earthly bodies,” Cas said, as if that explained everything. “I usually recognize you by your souls, except when I’m human. Humans look a lot alike.”

            Sam barked out a laugh.

            “That’s racist, dude,” Dean said.

#

            The bar wasn’t a roadhouse but it was kind of big for a dive. The patrons were the people found in a dive, though. Guys who fixed stuff, guys who worked in nameless buildings in manufacturing parks, making stuff or putting it in boxes and shipping it. Women who drove delivery trucks and took no guff. It was the kind of bar where Dean could relax. If only it had a pool table.

            They’d decided to stay in Wichita and Sam picked up two room keys at a motel down the street. When they threw the duffels in the room there was only a king with a green and burgundy paisley bedspread. “All they had,” Sam said and grabbed his jacket.

            “Wear a jacket,” Dean said ineffectually and late. Sam was already out of the room, knocking on Cas’ door and telling him to come on.

            The beer tasted good and was cold. Sam was getting another pitcher for them. Dean looked up and scanned the room, not even thinking about it, and his eyes skipped over not finding Sam until he went back to the tall guy with the short hair and the broad shoulders at the bar was his brother. He couldn’t wait until Sam grew his hair out again.

            He was so used to Sam, his Sam, and then for the last three weeks this guy who walked down the Bunker hallways with his fingers brushing the wall and went from snark to tears in eight seconds flat. That guy was at the bar now and yet, he was someone different. Some narrow-hipped broad-shouldered stranger who was also his brother. Sam was relaxed, maybe a little high on feeling normal and his body language was open. Not hunched like Sam did so often in public. Not reserved the way he was in his Fed suit.

            The woman pulling beer behind the bar looked up at him like she would lick him off a spoon and Dean tried not to think about the king bed. He didn’t like to think about when they fooled around because it wasn’t really like that. It was just…relief. Any port in a storm. Not planned and anticipated like sex.

            Sammy might get lucky, if the way the bartender was laughing and watching him was any indication. Sam was dimpled and doing that thing where he had no idea he was being hit on which made him even more attractive to some women. He turned around with the pitcher in his hand and smiled at Dean.

            “I don’t understand why you are so concerned with Sam’s hair,” Cas said.

            “Sam loves his hair, okay?”

            Sam came through the crowd, lifting the pitcher over the heads of a guy and girl headed for the back door. Sam wasn’t graceful, exactly, he was too lanky for that. There was an economy to grace that Sam didn’t have. But he was athletic and rangy and Dean wasn’t sure why every single lady in the place wasn’t homing in. And they hadn’t even seen his abs.

            “Do you love your hair?” Cas asked as Sam set the pitcher down.

            Sam shrugged and poured all around. “Don’t laugh, they had a special on Moosehead on tap.”

            “I’m gonna laugh,” Dean said. “You can’t give me an opening like that. Sam has always been vain about his hair, Cas.”

            “It’s easier having it short,” Sam said.

            No. No no no no no. Dean wasn’t even sure why he was reacting this way. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Keep your damn long hair. It’s your thing.”

            “Well, you’re right that it’s easier to maintain—”

            “What, you’re going to give that up? What’s left? Your room looks like no one lives there, your idea of cutting loose is an hour of television. You’re allowed to have long hair!”

            Sam looked startled at Dean’s vehemence. “I…okay. I mean, I probably won’t even remember to cut it.”

            “Moosehead,” Dean said, trying to cover.

            Sam rolled his eyes and Cas squinted at Dean, trying to figure out what was going on.

#   

            Sam felt so good. Like the world was suddenly in high def, or maybe he was. He hadn’t exactly gotten used to the vertigo and the headaches and the way thinking was like wading through a swamp but he apparently had forgotten how wonderful it was to be able to just walk through a crowded bar or even walk back to a motel feeling tipsy. Poor Cas. It took so much to get him drunk. He didn’t know this feeling where the beer just took the edge off and everything was golden.

            Then they were in their room and Dean was taking the first shower. Afterwards Sam brushed his teeth and studied himself in the mirror. He’d stopped shaving because it was too hard and he’d refused to let Dean shave him. Now he had a decent beard coming in. He used his razor to neaten it up, trim the edges. He wasn’t sure about it, beards made his face look thinner.

            Dean was already in bed, a beer on the bedside table (they’d stopped at a gas station and bought a twelve pack.)

            Sam slid in next to him. “Not a bad bed.”

            “Not home.”

            “Memory foam,” Sam said, teasing.

            Dean sighed beside him. “Good to have you back in shape.”

            Sam put out the light on his side of the bed and they were left in the glow of the television, blue light flickering on Dean. He could feel tension in Dean.

            It was as if all he could feel was Dean. Dean lying next to him. The way Dean felt like a electricity, a biological machine, full of energy and heat. He sipped his beer and watched some stupid movie and thought about how to start.

            He slid down, turned on his side like has was going to sleep.

            His brother turned his head towards him. “I’ll turn off the TV.” Was Dean a little disappointed?

            “Go ahead and watch,” Sam said. “Won’t bother me.”

            “Nah, I’m not even paying attention,” Dean said. He turned off the TV and Sam listened to him clatter the remote on the bedside table. He turned on his side, back to Sam and Sam slid easily against him, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist.

            “You cold?” Dean asked.

            “A little,” Sam lied. Dean had had a couple of beers and Sam had bought him a boilermaker—PBR and a shot of Jack, their dad’s drink. Dean wasn’t exactly tense but he wasn’t exactly relaxed. He pushed back just a little against Sam and Sam took it as a sign, sliding his hand down towards Dean’s dick. He liked Dean’s dick. He liked the way it went plum-purple when Dean was aroused. Liked that Dean was circumcised.

            He brushed his hand across Dean’s groin—this was the way it started so often. Silent. In the dark. One of them reaching out and neither of them saying anything. Sam wasn’t a talker during sex but he knew Dean was with his girls. But they hadn’t talked since Sam had turned fifteen or sixteen and before that, it had been Sam joking, poking. Brothers. An extension of wrestling.

            Dean turned on his back and reached for Sam and Sam let him. Sam had an idea but he was nervous.

            He pulled the covers down to Dean’s hips.

            “I thought you were cold,” Dean said.

            “Not anymore,” Sam said, trying to make it matter of fact.

            The heater clicked on and Sam knew he jumped. He laughed a little in the dark and was surprised at how…filthy it sounded.

            He splayed his fingers around Dean’s balls, massaging gently. Dean could be over-sensitive sometimes so he didn’t want to be too ticklish or too rough. Dean’s hand on his own cock was turning, jacking.

            Sam didn’t want a mutual jack-off. Maybe he’d had to be brain-damaged to see the obvious but Dean was all he had and he was never going to have anyone else and while Dean was always going to be a horndog (less so now then when he was younger but Sam always pretended for Dean that Dean was nineteen, never called him out on getting older, slowing down. It was important to Dean that he was that guy, always looking for the next girl. Dean loved girls, Sam wasn’t going to fool himself) that really didn’t matter.

            Sam didn’t know if Dean was ever really attracted to guys. In some ways it was just Dean’s appetite. Sex felt good. If it was a guy and it felt good, that was okay, too. If Dean was bi, he liked girls best. But for Dean, sex wasn’t much about love. Maybe with Cassie and Lisa. Mostly, sex was like beer and burgers. Tasty and fun. It was one of the best things about Dean, that joy in the world and its pleasures.

            Dean gasped a little and Sam sat up, pulling a little away so Dean stopped turning his fist around Sam’s dick.

            “I want to try something,” Sam said as quietly as he could. Like he could startle Dean.

            Dean made a noise like he wasn’t sure but Sam pulled the sheets down and pulled down Dean’s boxers a bit, exposing his cock. Sam leaned over smelling soap and the indescribable musky scent of Dean, a faint hint that was a little like sweat but oh so much better. Dean smelled so male. Sam was nervous.

            Dean had peed out of it and that was…not to be thought about. And Sam hadn’t given anyone head since college. Dean was watching him, face impossible to read in the darkness of the room lit faintly by light coming around the curtain. Dean might freak.

            Sam licked the top of Dean’s cock and Dean gasped. It went straight to Sam’s own dick.

            Sam licked a little bit, then reached down and lifted Dean’s cock to expose his balls. Dean’s legs were only a little ways apart but he spread them and Sam ran his tongue down the muscular line between them and Dean gasped again. Sam kept waiting, as he gently took Dean’s right ball in his mouth, for his brother to say stop. This was incest. No matter what Dean wanted to think.

            Sam had thought about it. Thought about why. Incest was bad if you were going to have kids. Incest was bad because the power between the two people was never equal and he knew it was just an extension of the fucked up relationship they had. Dean gave the orders. Sam could suggest hunts, could argue, but it has always been an attempt to change Dean’s mind because Dean decided (except for the whole Lilith thing and that was just proof maybe Dean should decide).

            It was wrong and he didn’t care. He wanted this. Wanted to have this with Dean. Wanted to stop fumbling in the dark and denying and be real.

            He stopped licking Dean’s balls and reared up.

            “Sammy—” Dean said but Sam took Dean’s cock in his mouth and Dean gasped again. Sam knew that gasp, knew that Dean’s eyes were shut and there were crinkled laugh lines at the corners. Knew that Dean was losing himself in the sensation.

            Sam tried to keep his teeth out of it. He could only get about halfway down but Dean didn’t seem to care. Dean was still silent though.

            Sam didn’t think Dean was going to make much noise.

            Sam wrapped his hand around the base of Dean’s cock—he was salivating a little and it made everything slippery. There was a bit of salty pre-come taste. Dean leaking.

            “Ummm,” Sam hummed and it happened again, Dean responding to the vibrations or maybe to the fact that Sam liked it, liked the taste of Dean. Sam had been afraid he wouldn’t.

            Sam stroked the base as he sucked and then suddenly Dean was bucking, he drove into Sam’s mouth and Sam choked, tearing, and Dean was coming, coming, salty and a little bitter, so much.

            “Stop!” Dean whispered. Over-stimulated. Sam pulled back, still holding Dean as his brother spasmed again and come welled out, and then again, and Sam held on all the way down. Only when Dean was done did he let go.

            Then he licked come off Dean’s cock and Dean jerked. “Oh Chuck, stop!”

            Sam let himself fall back against his pillow. He felt euphoric. He’d done that. Dean had never come like that for him before.

            After a moment he got up and padded into the bathroom, ran the tap until the water was warm and brought Dean back a washcloth.

            “Thanks,” Dean whispered. They were both awake but this was secret. This was theirs.

            Sam hadn’t come but he felt pretty relaxed and Dean was wrung out. Dean tossed the washcloth on the floor.

            Sam sighed. Happy.

            And then he felt Dean’s hand on his own cock and gasped.

            “You don’t have to,” he managed.

            Dean laughed quietly in the dark. “Oh but I do.”

            The light went on in the bathroom and the bulbs shattered plunging them back into darkness. 

            "Oh Sammy," Dean said, "talk about tells."

###

           

 


End file.
